COLLEGE LIFE IN PRISON

My first week of college was after a weeklong lockdown. The sour taste of what Strike Force did to my cell had to vanish as I sauntered into English 111. I'm in a classroom with tables, chairs, and a desk for our professor. I sat, pen in hand, anxious to discover what I'll be learning.

Hamilton, who was the college aid, towered over me, shaking my hand with enthusiasm. He knew it took a year of paperwork for me to finally sit in a classroom for higher learning. He relinquished my hand as our professor strolled in.

Her name was Mrs. Bouldin. A bubbly mother of two, just returning from maternity leave. She was a chatterbox of energy, and that kept me engaged as she shared her credentials: she was working on her doctorate degree. That amazed me by her being younger than me, but still, I'm glad she was teaching me.

Our first in-class assignment was to do an autobiography on a moment that was life-changing. I chose to reveal the moment I began to write novels. Once done, I handed it over and began to read up on bibliographies. We would be doing a thesis at the end of the semester, and I wanted to be ready for that as my classmates worked in silence on completing their first assignment.

When we were all done, Mrs. Bouldin spoke about a pop quiz, but our time came to a close. We departed with smiles, thanking her for keeping us engaged.

I carried my schoolbooks back to my cell and shut down mentally. After the morning institutional count, I would be heading to US History. So, while I waited, I relaxed, watching Orange Is the New Black. While I did, we were counted in our cells, then our cells opened.

I'm marching out of the building for the chow hall. I'm in there with Tyler, who would be attending class with me. Tyler had been in college for a year, doing four classes a semester. His intelligence could be seen in his paintings he was doing, and how he articulated his thoughts. We discussed how our previous classes went over slices of pizza, then headed to class.

We were early, and two other students were already waiting for class to begin. I found a seat in the rear of the classroom and waited as well. Our professor was Dr. Jordan, a middle-aged woman with a career in the military and more degrees than I could possibly remember. She had us introduce ourselves, and that was where she paused on me: "Tutankhamon, I enjoy ancient history." She smiled, then we began our class.

We listened as she spoke on the industrialization of America. She talked about trolleys, subways, and skyscrapers. It was all fascinating, but I'm yawning more and more. That made me feel embarrassed, like I wasn't interested in what she was conveying. Dr. Jordan never said anything, but we locked eyes more than once.

When class came to an end, we had two assignments: Interpretation of Robber Barons, and writing a letter as a character of the Western Trails in 1840-1900. I departed with my schoolwork, smiling. Why? I'm in college while incarcerated.

Twenty-seven years of life behind bars, and I'm grinning ear to ear as I recognize how the Pell Grant has given men and women alike a chance to for higher learning. This is the way for us to grow beyond our normal thinking, and I'm ready for more.

The following day, I had to facilitate Managing My Life alone. My co-facilitator transferred, so I'm alone. I did a good job, but with repetition, I'll get better at leading a class. Honestly, I was focused on getting my students to listen to what I had to offer them, then get them ready for a job interview in two weeks I'll be giving them.

Work. Work. Work. That's all I'm doing as I'm in the day room working on content for my TikTok account. Seven days a week, I must come up with content. It's hectic, but I get it done. On top of that, I'm writing articles for my blog and numerous sites I'm contributing to. Nobody would believe how busy I am.

College classes were on Wednesday, but I couldn't study anything until Friday morning. I grabbed a table in the day room and littered it with books from college, my journal, books I'm reading, and my tablet. I skipped breakfast, but not my stretch routine, Haneef and I began for our shoulder and back issues. Once I sat down in my chair, I stuffed my ears with music and started my studies.

I opened up my college book for US History. I had to interpret what I read about the Robber Barons on my worksheet, then check on factual truths about what I read. Well, I learned about Jay Gould, who was all about a dollar; he owned 15 percent of all railroad transportation in the late 1800s, which he monopolized by making farmers and businesses pay whatever prices he demanded. That knowledge helped me shape my answers.

I read up on the Urbanization of America. That took me from the legendary Five Points in New York to Boston, which has the oldest subway station in US history (Tremont Street Subway). I'm locked in as I'm learning more, but in prison, normal study habits come at a cost.

You're in an enclosure with numerous men who want to ask questions, get your attention about something they feel is important. This caused me to get vocal, making them understand, I'M IN COLLEGE! I even had to get up and tell a guy to get away from me, because he wanted to play with me while I was in a book, reading. Now my cell, I do not have a table to sit at; I would be on my bunk, back against the wall, books everywhere. That won't work, so I'm at a table with music I've listened to a million times, blocking out the noise as I work on attaining my associate degree in prison.

No matter what comes, I'm going to give everything for the chance of a lifetime. This was about my higher learning. Nothing more. Nothing less. The men around me want to play cards, cool, that's their journey. Mine is about looking back on my life and telling everybody that while I did my time, I did something important for myself: Attained a college degree while incarcerated.